He awoke in a bright, crowded street, the sun glaring in ponds of water strewn about not unlike the spray of chocolate milk when it is shaken and then opened.

Last he remembered, the Manzilla was on an airship – something quite foreign to him then – but this, this was beyond the land of Iwaku's grasp of the weird. Everyone's shoes were finely tailored leather or thickly woven cotton all with elastic soles, such things as he couldn't have imagined in the Eternal Forest and rarely saw in Iwaku.

And then Fel realized that he had come to with a splitting headache. It was funny how he hadn't noticed before, but it was tenfold a migraine in the brightest day of Iwaku.

The city highrise before him was awe-inspiring for a select few moments, until the castles in Iwaku flashed before his eyes. Those were true arctitecture, this was... quite obviously quickly done. And with no real motiv, either. As he achingly stood, he shrugged his shoulders in a 'to each their own' kind of manner.

Panic. It finally struck. He found himself on the ground again, horrified with a mix of vertigo and rather a lot of distaste. Fel laid on the ground, catching his equilibrium and stairing at the blue skies. Across his view a plane not unlike some that he had seen in the other world – albiet bigger and bulkier – flew. At least sometimes there are constants from world to world. Perhaps this was truly the confluence he had heard so much about but hadn't had explained to him?

Bile rose from his stomach as freely as though he were drunk, and he quickly turned his head as though not to choke. [/i]This isn't fucking Iwaku...[/i]

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